


Fetharsi Outtakes

by fireopal77



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angel Wings, Angelic Lore, Angst, Backstory, Brotherly Love, Comfort, F/M, Grief, Guilt, Heaven, Hell, Hurt Lucifer, Insecure Lucifer, Love, M/M, Memories, Protective Amenadiel (Lucifer TV), Silver City, Wing Grooming, Wings, celestial brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 01:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireopal77/pseuds/fireopal77
Summary: The following are scenes I wrote separately and intended to insert into my story FETHARSI but didn’t due to length, time constraints, or other reasons. I decided to edit and publish them here for readers who enjoyed that story and might also enjoy this fanfiction equivalent of director’s cuts and deleted scenes. They aren’t meant to be read independently, so if you haven’t already read FETHARSI, please do that first, and then, if you like it, come back to these.These scenes are set before and shortly after Lucifer’s Fall, so they depict a different, more innocent Lucifer than seen on the show.
Relationships: Amenadiel & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Amenadiel/Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42





	1. The Loss of Innocence

NOTES: In Chapter 7, Amenadiel tells Chloe the true story of the seduction in Eden. Lucifer was a virgin, an angel from Heaven completely ignorant of sex, and Eve, created to be Adam’s wife, was the one with all the experience. Lucifer was confused and hysterical afterwards, all his emotions intensified by the pleasure he experienced, as well as the fear of what punishment might lie in store since no angel had ever lost their innocence before. It took Amenadiel hours to calm him down. Since he was expected to bless a blighted vineyard and didn’t want to leave his little brother alone, Amenadiel took Lucifer with him. Lucifer found some fireflies to play with and forgot his fears for a little while, frolicking in the sky with his wings covered in glowing fireflies. The following continues the story from that point.

***

As he follows Amenadiel up the wide gold-flecked tawny marble staircase, his wingtips grazing balustrades gilded with the muted shimmer of gold, Lucifer notices the _noco_ (servants) brazenly staring at him. Their expressions convey a mixture of anxiety and awe. Lips frown and tremble. Heads shake mournfully or in disbelief. Eyes bulge open wide, blink away tears, or unabashedly let them fall. Word travels fast in the Silver City; _valasila_ (gossip) grows swift wings. It’s obvious everyone already knows God’s favorite son is no longer a virgin. Amongst _dazi_ _jezasam nolis,_ the chaste ones, as the _noco_ call the angels they serve, Lucifer now stands out like a sore thumb…or an erect penis.

Amenadiel pauses, his hand resting protectively on Lucifer’s back, rubbing the taut, tense muscles between his wings. Lucifer is alert and wary as a cornered animal, a coiled snake that will not hesitate to strike if it feels threatened.

Clearly the servants are upset, and speculation runs rampant, far outpacing commonsense. They’re wondering if now that Lucifer is no longer pure he will spread lust like a plague amongst the chaste ones until they are all corrupted. It’s really a needless fear. But no one knows Lucifer the way Amenadiel does. The high and mighty, mercurial, diamond-bright image is too deeply engraved in all their minds. Even if he told them, they’d never believe how innocent and downy-soft Lucifer can be. Lucifer hates it—or pretends to—when Amenadiel teases that his heart is like the fluffy, cloud-soft, sugary, sticky white candy the Silver City’s _Narimanoma_ (Confectioner) makes by whipping sap from the mallow roots that grow in the Earth’s marshes, but he can’t honestly deny that it’s true.

“Go on upstairs and start your bath, Luci,” Amenadiel urges gently. “I’ve already plucked three fireflies from your wings, and I’m sure there are more, and I’d rather you didn’t bring them to bed with us,” he smiles reassuringly and playfully ruffles Lucifer’s feathers.

A low, contented purr, _vahasa_ , the sound their Father will allow happy felines to mimic, arises from the depths of Lucifer’s throat. His eyes half-close, his neck arches, and his feathers fluff as he leans back into his brother’s touch, eager for more.

Amenadiel smiles and gives the feathers another, more vigorous, rumple, letting his nails lightly graze the tender skin beneath. His fond and loving words, and the affectionate gesture accompanying them, are meant to show that nothing has changed between them. Something everyone thinks means everything actually means nothing. It will not break them as many think and some even dare to hope. They’ll go upstairs and have their bath, followed by their customary repast of wine and olives, and Lucifer will sleep where he usually sleeps—in Amenadiel’s bed, safe, loved, and sated.

A manservant gasps and cries out, “His wings are infested with flies! Surely that is a sign of corruption!”

Frightened murmurs spread like wildfire, leaping from tongue to tongue. A serving wench shrieks and falls down in a faint, and suddenly everyone is sobbing and imploring God’s protection and mercy.

“They are not!” Lucifer’s feathers puff with indignation and disgorge a few more fireflies that have hitched a ride to Heaven.

“Of course they’re not,” Amenadiel says calmly, soothingly stroking the bristling white feathers. “If you’ve finished your work then go,” he curtly dismisses the servants, “but do not spread fear like a disease, or let it blind your reason. Rest and calm yourselves; there is nothing for you to fear. Tomorrow, I expect all of you to comport yourselves properly. My brother is an archangel, lest you forget, he gave his light to banish darkness, and you _will_ treat him with the courtesy and respect he deserves or face my wrath. We are _vasiminip-pala_ (a preening pair), and this is his home as much as it is mine. Consider this your first as well as your final warning.”

Tears fill Lucifer’s eyes. In his panic and confusion he hadn’t even stopped to consider what his folly might cost him.

And Amenadiel knows this. Curious and enthralled by the new diversion the woman Eve offered, Lucifer walked innocently into a situation he was ill-prepared for and lost himself in pleasure. To him it was just a new way of playing, a game, not the act of rebellion and betrayal others will say it was. Only afterwards, when it was too late, did he think of the consequences. That’s why it’s so important for Amenadiel to say this now, and for everyone, especially Lucifer, to know their sacred bond endures undiminished and unbroken.

Those who will shout and denounce the loudest—Gabriel, Uriel, and Remiel—have never been _vasiminip-pala_ , they tend their own wings or have them groomed casually, with the same stoic indifference as they would have battle wounds dressed or their hair done, so they cannot truly understand what being a preening pair means, they only think they do. But covetousness and resentment have always united them—all three of them think Lucifer is too volatile and capricious, and Amenadiel deserves someone on a more even emotional keel, someone more dignified and worthy, someone like one of them, to preen with. They contemptuously, sometimes even pityingly, refer to Lucifer and Amenadiel as _dazi nanari calo dazi nilaz_ (the flame and the moth). They think Lucifer has dazzled Amenadiel and blinded him with his light, the better to hide his most grievous faults. But _they_ are the blind ones, denying and disbelieving that Amenadiel sees all full plain and loves just the same.

“Do not let their ignorance distress you, Brother.” Amenadiel caresses Lucifer’s face, whisking away the crystal trickle of tears just as it starts to fall. “Your wings shine bright enough without the help of fireflies, _lucifitas_ (bright one).” He smiles, leans in, and kisses him.

The servants gasp and gape.

_Merifri Vonasis_ , Angel Kisses, Divine Kisses, are the most exquisitely deceptive kisses of all. They look like nothing, but they’re _everything!_ A blessing and a gift, they are grace, serenity and bliss, pure and divine. In all of God’s creation there is no greater comfort. It never ceases to amaze Lucifer how something so beautiful can seem so bland. They’re just the barest, feather-light brush of lips against lips, like a butterfly lighting upon petals, lingering for a few heartbeats or gone in an instant, but to the heart, the wings, the soul…it’s like coming upon a bonfire, blazing with warmth and light, on the darkest, coldest, loneliest night, and finding a kettle of warm soup ready, waiting to nourish you, a fur blanket to enfold you, and the arms you want most to hold you.

Lucifer was completely confounded when, after their first kiss, Eve laughed and said that wasn’t a _real_ kiss. She seemed almost disdainful of his gift! He became even more confused and flustered when she proceeded to demonstrate what a real kiss was. Those hungry, wet, smacking, devouring lips accompanied by greedy, groping hands, touching him as he’d never been touched before, grasping and fondling his _vonipama rosinam_ (dangling ornaments), made him think of a starvation that could never be slaked. More and more, yet never enough, hunger without end! Behind this bold, daring, intense new fun, Lucifer sensed a certain sadness lurking that even now he can’t quite explain.

And he still doesn’t understand: How can such greedy, ravenous kisses be considered real, yet kisses that calm and caress, feed and fulfill the very soul are not? Perhaps it’s the stillness and simplicity of it. Humans don’t know how to stay still and savor the soul-filling serenity such kisses bring, they’re too impatient for frenzy and friction. One beautiful, bright shining star isn’t enough for them; they want a whole dazzling meteor shower. Or perhaps they just can’t feel it, and it’s yet one more way that God made humans and angels different. Humans don’t have wings and feathers to preen, playfully and passionately rumple, mesh, and entangle, so they have to find other ways to love. So they use their genitals, which play no part in the divine Act of Love. They’re merely there, like dangling fleshy ornaments; angels don’t toy with them and wake them up the way humans do, there’s really no need, their wings are made for love—pure, divine, ecstatic love!

Lucifer thinks the human act of love is a peculiar thing indeed, fun as it is, it’s only the palest, faintest echo of the divine. For all the panting, urgent, sweaty, carnal frenzy it hardly has a pulse compared to the angelic Act of Love. Lucifer wonders if mortals are capable of transcending the flesh and feeling anything like divine love. The human act is also apparently misnamed since it can be accomplished without love, purely for pleasure’s sake, as Lucifer’s encounter with Eve, and certain remarks she made about her husband, clearly illustrates. All things considered, Lucifer thinks calling it the act of love is rather misleading, dishonest even. Angels can preen, but they cannot experience the Act of Love unless there is deep and abiding love between them, it’s a sacred covenant between siblings, and without love it’s merely grooming. Perhaps Amenadiel can diplomatically suggest to their father that what the humans do be given another name instead, something indicative of the joining of genitals for fun or fruitfulness and not necessarily involving love. Calling it the act of love is bound to cause confusion when Earth becomes more populated. Lucifer can envision numerous misunderstandings arising from this misnomer. He’ll broach the subject with his brother soon, but right now Lucifer wants a bath, wine and olives, love and rest, to sleep with his head on Amenadiel’s shoulder in a blissful tangle of feathers.

_“Esiasch tablior_ (my brother who always comforts me),” Lucifer sighs with a giddy smile and a sensual little flutter-fluff of his feathers.

“ _Nidisina_ (Always),” Amenadiel smiles back at him, brushing the wayward curls back from Lucifer’s face. “Come, Brother,” he leads the way upstairs. Tonight let the servants think what they will, tomorrow woe be to them if they forget that they’ve been warned.

***

The bath attendant hovers fretfully half-behind a white marble column, hugging an armful of towels against his anxiously beating heart. With a despairing sigh and a disapproving shake of his grizzled head, he watches the playful tussle taking place in the blue marble tub. Laughter assails his ears and two giant pairs of wings, one set a medley of darkness, the other purest white, are carelessly splashing water all over the blue and green mosaic floor.

The _noco_ (servant) nervously clears his throat as the first and last born sons of God embrace, standing waist deep in the sunken marble tub, fingers gliding with joyful, swift, giddy urgency through feathers like sodden silk. _Jahilama,_ rumpling, the way preening pairs often play before engaging in the Act of Love.

He’s hesitant to speak. He’s already annoyed his master by offering to fetch some of the more caustic soap they use in the kitchen for Lucifer to wash with, to help rid him of the mortal taint, and for daring to delicately inquire if the formerly chaste archangel even knew how to cleanse his foreskin after a carnal encounter. Lucifer, who can get angrier faster than any angel this ancient servant has ever seen, threw a tantrum and everything he could reach, including several alabaster scent jars and crystal canisters filled with dried herbs and flower petals, making a royal mess the _noco_ will be down on his knees mopping up until well after midnight. Amber-hued spikenard oil is still drizzling down the wall onto alabaster shards, filling the chamber with its strong, sweet and earthy aroma. The floor looks like it is hemorrhaging blood-red rose petals, and the whole room reeks of Lucifer’s favorite lavender and the supposedly calming chamomile he often mixes with it for his baths. After striking the _noco_ in the mouth with a well-aimed soap-lathered sponge, Lucifer started to climb out of the tub, threatening to go and bathe in his own palace, which would have made the bath attendant very happy indeed, but Amenadiel pulled him back, reprimanded the servant in a tone as caustic as the kitchen soap, and then turned his attention to pacifying his brother with soft words and soothingly stroking fingers, which soon led to more passionate play.

“My Lord,” still lurking behind the marble column, the _noco_ clears his throat again, louder this time, to get Amenadiel’s attention, “My Lord, considering what has occurred…should you let him,” he glances pointedly at Lucifer, “so near your person? You must take care to safeguard your chastity, and he might…become confused because of what he’s done, or succumb to wickedness and touch you indecently, he might even tempt you to…” he gropes delicately for the proper word, “…lasciviousness.”

With a stricken expression, like one suddenly, unexpectedly slapped, Lucifer backs away from his brother.

“Am I no longer worthy of love because of what I did?” he demands, his voice trembling on the verge of tears.

“Luci! _No!_ Come here, little brother, come here,” Amenadiel coaxes, reaching out to pull Lucifer back into his arms.

“I would _never_ do _that!_ I would never do what he said!” Lucifer jerks his head at the bath attendant, a riot of wet curls bouncing wildly all over his head. “The human and the divine Act of Love are _completely_ different, and I could _never_ confuse the two nor would I want to combine them! The human act is fun, but I do not think it has anything to do with love! I didn’t feel _anything_ in my wings! They popped out once, because I was surprised, I wasn’t expecting…what happened…but they didn’t _feel_ anything! It’s _nothing_ like when we love, Brother! I’m not confused…not about that! And I’m not wicked! I’m not! And I don’t believe what I did makes me wicked!”

“I know, I know, of course it doesn’t,” Amenadiel assures him, drawing Lucifer back into the protective circle of his arms and wings, and guiding his head down to rest upon his shoulder. “There’s not a wicked bone in your body. You’re a tired angel who has had a very eventful day, a very trying and tiring day. And you know when you’re tired, Luci, you’re easily upset, you feel everything intensely and take every word to heart. You’ll feel better after you’ve rested.”

Hot tears splash onto Amenadiel’s shoulder. “That _noco_ imbecile has insulted me, Brother! _He’s_ the wicked one for saying such things! I want him dismissed!”

“As you wish,” Amenadiel agrees, “he has indeed spoken ungraciously as well as inappropriately, and tomorrow, after you’ve rested, if you still want him dismissed, it shall be done. But you’re too tired and upset to make such decisions now, Luci.”

“But, My Lord…I meant only to safeguard the precious pearl of your virtue!” the _noco_ falls on his knees, groveling in a puddle of rose petals.

“How is my bathing with kitchen soap safeguarding his virtue?” Lucifer demands. “I know how to wash myself! I like being clean! I washed directly afterwards in the river, and I have washed again tonight! And you knew that before you spoke! You’re supposed to keep your distance unless we call, but you’re always peeping around the columns spying on us! I’ve seen you! You act like a little king downstairs lording over the other _noco_ and making them beg for the crumbs of gossip you give them!”

Lucifer is correct. The _noco_ are notorious gossips, and their favorite subject is preening pairs. They’re insatiably curious about how the chaste ones love each other with their wings. Bath and bedchamber attendants, those servants best placed to observe moments of intimacy and affection, and telltale signs like stray feathers and spatters of preening oil on silken sheets, quickly become puffed up with pride and self-importance. Bath attendants are particularly susceptible since angels are fastidious creatures who love to bathe and often spend hours in their vast and luxurious bathing chambers. Some even make their baths a social occasion and receive guests, to gossip and partake of pastries, wine, honeyed nuts, candied fruit, and other sweets, while they soak and frolic. Often they have hairdressers and masseurs to attend them, and musicians and bards to entertain. The Archangel Gabriel’s bathing chamber even doubles as a betting parlor with cards and dice always at the ready, and, until Amenadiel put a stop to it, there were vivid finned fighting fish and eel races. And, most interesting to the _noco_ of all, there are the preening pairs who love and play in perfumed waters and fountains’ spray, passionately rumpling and tangling their wet feathers as a prelude to the divine Act of Love.

Lucifer brings his wings crashing down with such force that a great wave sloshes out, knocking the kneeling servant flat on his backside.

“Luci…” Amenadiel scolds gently. “You must calm down now, Brother; you are an archangel and above servants’ gossip. You must not let such foolishness upset you...”

“I am clean! I am!” Lucifer sobs hysterically. “Must I purge myself with hyssop inside and out to be considered clean again, or is even that not enough? Is that my fate then, Brother, henceforth shall everyone see me as a filth-spattered unclean thing, soul and flesh black as the world before light? Is it? Is that what is going to happen to me, Amenadiel? Do they expect me to fall on my knees, hang my head down, and weep and grovel for forgiveness for all eternity? Well I won’t! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!” He pounds the water with his wings. “I will beg forgiveness of no one!”

“Leave us!” Amenadiel quickly commands the servant. “Say another word to upset my brother and I will rip out your tongue! Now go!”

“But, My Lord…I have devoted my life to providing you with bath towels!” the _noco_ protests.

Amenadiel doesn’t care; teardrops are falling on his shoulder and he has one hand buried in black curls, the other deep in white feathers, trying to calm Lucifer.

_“Go,”_ Amenadiel’s quiet severity, earnest and ice-cold, is more frightening than any shout.

Hanging his head, the crestfallen _noco_ slinks away, no doubt heading downstairs to the kitchen to nurse his grievances over a tall tankard of _jadoha_ , the strong, dark, bitter beer the servants favor. And the more he drinks, letting the bitter brew fuel his own bitterness, the more he’ll have to say…

Lucifer settles his head against Amenadiel’s shoulder. He allows himself to be stroked and soothed, and his sniffling slowly subsides.

“Shall I sleep like this tonight, Brother?” he asks in an anxious, trembling whisper.

“Of course,” Amenadiel says, “you claimed my shoulder as your pillow the night you were born.”

“I remember,” Lucifer smiles, remembering the first time he wiggled under Amenadiel’s wing and into his arms.

They stand in the deep basin of blue, just holding each other with only blind-eyed marble statues as witnesses. But, tired and tense, Lucifer cannot lay his fears to rest, no matter how hard he tries to push them away, they keep coming back.

“Luci, your heart is pounding! I can feel it!” Amenadiel places his palm on his brother’s chest, hoping to calm him with his grace.

Lucifer lays his own hand over Amenadiel’s and holds tight.

“I’m afraid,” he admits in the softest of whispers. “I’m afraid that He,” his dark eyes dart upward, “will take you from me, because of what I did.”

“Do not even think it!” Amenadiel exclaims, horrified. “Surely Father would not be so cruel!” He hugs his brother close and hopes with all his heart that he’s right. To lose Lucifer would be like losing the light, the stars, moon, and sun.

Lucifer lifts his head to meet his brother’s eyes. “I misspoke when I said I would beg no one’s forgiveness. I was upset and I spoke wildly.” Humbly, he kneels, feeling the bathwater bobbing beneath his chin and the bite of mosaic under his knees, “I would beg your forgiveness, Brother.”

“Luci, there is no need!” Amenadiel reaches quickly to raise him back up. “If you need me to forgive you, Brother, if that will bring you peace, then I do, readily and willingly, but truly there is no need for you to even ask…”

“I didn’t think about you when I…”

“Because it had nothing to do with me!”

“Yes! Exactly!” Lucifer nods emphatically as a fresh rain of tears begins to fall. “She was so sweet and she seemed so sad! If you had seen her, Brother, you would have felt sorry for her too! She said what she wanted most in the world was a kiss from me, that it would make her very happy. I thought she meant _Merifri Vonasis_ (Angel Kisses/Divine Kisses), that she desired a blessing from an angel! I wanted to make her feel better…so I kissed her. But that wasn’t what she meant! I didn’t understand! And I _still_ don’t! She said that wasn’t a _real_ kiss! But how can it not be? I don’t understand! And then…it all happened so fast! I thought it was a game! That she was showing me the way humans play! She invited me to play! And I was curious! And it _was_ fun! It felt good— _really_ good! But I didn’t mean to hurt you, Brother, truly I didn’t!”

“I know,” Amenadiel says gently, wiping the tears from Lucifer’s eyes, “I know you didn’t, and you haven’t. It had nothing to do with me, or with us. Luci, it isn’t the same as if you had allowed another angel to groom your wings…”

“I would _never_ do _that,_ Brother!” Lucifer cries, horrified. “We are _vasiminip-pala!_ I did not even allow the woman to touch my wings! When they popped out she reached to caress them, but I would not permit it! I was so upset by her presumption that I immediately took my leave!” Lucifer’s wings bristle at the memory and he burrows against Amenadiel’s shoulder and holds on tight, as though his very soul is drowning in misery, burying his hands deep in dark feathers.

“I know you wouldn’t, I know,” Amenadiel holds him close, stroking his wings, trying to stop the hot tears and still the violent shivering that makes Lucifer’s whole body shake. “Human carnal couplings and divine preening pairs are two _very_ different things, Luci. And I think perhaps _Merifri Vonasis_ are too real for mortals to appreciate or even understand; that must be so for something so great to seem so small to them. And they don’t understand about our wings either. I’m sure Eve intended no offense; she was just awed by the sight of your wings—they are quite splendid, you know—and she didn’t know the proper etiquette, that’s all. And I know, even though humanity and divinity should not mingle, you have a curious nature, _lucifitas_ (bright one), and any new diversion excites you. You mustn’t let what happened make you uneasy about me, or about us; I assure you, I am neither threatened nor affronted by what you did with Eve. I feel no need to be, it takes nothing from me. I feel your love always in my wings.”

“ _Nidisina!_ (Always!)” Lucifer cries, ardently, earnestly. “You understand!” he sighs and sags gratefully against Amenadiel. “But no one else does! You’re not angry, you’re not upset, but everyone else is! I know by the way the servants behaved! Our siblings will be even worse!”

“And which would you prefer to understand,” Amenadiel asks, “if you had to choose—me or them?”

Lucifer smiles and leans his brow against his brother’s. “You know.”

“Yes, I do.” Amenadiel smiles.

“Love me?” Lucifer asks in a tremulous whisper.

_“Nidisina_ (Always).”

“And tonight,” Lucifer’s voice trembles with hope and desire, “when I am tired and feel everything more intensely, even love?”

In answer, Amenadiel leads Lucifer to the marble steps ascending out of the sunken tub.

***


	2. Swans

NOTES: Two days after the loss of Lucifer’s virginity.

***

As the first golden fingers of dawn creep across the sky, Amenadiel sits on the side of the bed, nursing his aching knuckles and watching Lucifer sleep.

Bathed in soft yellow light, the Lightbringer tosses restlessly; dark curls and white feathers a tousled mess.

Amenadiel’s heart surges with love for his little brother, knowing yet innocent, vain as well as vulnerable, inwardly fragile but outwardly so strong, a holy terror with a heart cloud-soft and easy to melt as sugar candy left out in the rain. Lucifer’s defenses—vanity, hubris, and temper tantrums—are like walls made of gingerbread.

“You _still_ love me!” Lucifer had whispered against Amenadiel’s shoulder, his voice full of joy and wonder. And then he’d fallen asleep in his brother’s arms, wrapped in his wings.

Yesterday they had lingered in bed late before finally rising to go and deal with their mother’s latest act of mischief—a mudslide. A flock of sheep their father was particularly fond of had been caught in the thick of it. Lucifer howled and rocked with laughter watching Amenadiel wrestle the simple-minded creatures out of the sticky mud while they bleated and struggled in his mighty arms; he had to rescue one of them five times before he finally tied a vine around all four ankles and deposited it in a field of rich clover a goodly distance from the mud-slathered hill. Then they had gone to the sea. They’d flown, high and low, swift and slow, spinning, whirling, twirling, and turning flips, playing in the sky, skimming the waves, and executing daring dives, swimming and washing away the mud, before diving down to see the denizens of the deep.

Lucifer’s wings lit the ocean with an eerie emerald glow and the creatures came fearlessly to greet them. Squid and jellyfish tentacles caressed their wings, and sea snakes, eels, and all manner of colorful fishes and shrimps burrowed trustingly into their feathers. Prickly urchins clustered around their feet, and anemones, rooted to the seabed, bowed low to show their respect. They played with the dolphins and petted the great whales, and then they’d gone to visit “Old Meg,” the lonely Megalodon, the last of his kind. God had decided that henceforth smaller, swifter sharks should rule the seas, but Lucifer loved the old giant with his rough, battle-scarred hide and sluggish, lumbering grace, and would be sad to see him go when time at last ran out for him. Though they could move much faster on their own, their wings slicing through the sea as swiftly as they maneuvered the skies, they would always grab hold of Old Meg’s ragged fins and let him carry them along. Afterwards they sprawled in the sand, limbs and feathers tangled in seaweed, rolling and wrestling and rumpling each other’s feathers, laughing as the surf crashed over them, glorying in the invigorating chill of the waves and the warmth of each other’s skin. And when the sun started to sink low in the sky, they’d hastened to Eden, to let the waterfall pound the salt and sand from their wings before returning to the Silver City.

Amenadiel sighs and rubs his knuckles. The split skin still smarts.

Well before dawn, Gabriel and Uriel had come banging on the front door. They had shoved and slapped the poor frightened _noco_ with their wings to force him upstairs to wake his master. Gabriel had even brandished his trumpet and threatened to blow it and rouse the whole Silver City if Amenadiel did not hastily appear.

Reluctantly, Amenadiel had gently untangled himself from Lucifer’s wings, taking great care not to wake him, and left the warm bed to go downstairs and face their querulous siblings.

It was all nonsense, of course, and much of it ignorant, crude, and mean-spirited. Gabriel was most concerned about “our most unworthy brother” continuing to share Amenadiel’s bed. “Just one touch,” he warned, would turn Lucifer into a “slavering beast of lust,” and he would pounce on Amenadiel “like a wild beast in heat.” And if they should lie stomach to stomach, their masculine members would surely rub together like two sticks to create “a blazing fire of lust—a bonfire of lust!”

They expressed unseemly curiosity about the condition of Lucifer’s dangling ornaments, ineptly masquerading as concern for the sanctity of Amenadiel’s chastity. Gabriel was willing to wager anything that they no longer dangled. He confidently declared that Lucifer’s masculine member must now protrude “like an arrow—an arrow of lust! Or a battering ram—a battering ram of lust!” When Amenadiel told him he would lose that wager too, just like he lost all the others, Gabriel pompously turned up his nose and ignored him. As did Uriel who opined that must be why Lucifer had not shown himself in the Silver City yesterday, “he was too ashamed to be seen in such a condition—and he should be!”

They hadn’t come to hear the truth; they clearly weren’t interested in it. When Amenadiel tried to tell them, they glossed over his calm and straightforward explanations and interrogated him about whether Lucifer had behaved indecently towards him, the sheep, or creatures of the deep, or even wallowed lustfully in the mud.

“Tell us, Brother, did Lucifer flaunt his dangling ornaments and entice you to touch them?” Gabriel demanded.

“Or did he attempt to touch yours?” asked Uriel.

“Are you quite sure he did not attempt carnal atrocities with the sheep?”

“Or lustful intercourse with the shark?”

“Did he attempt to insert his masculine member into a seashell?”

“Or an eel-cave?”

“He probably dazzled that unfortunate mortal with his light,” Gabriel nodded knowingly, “just like he did you, Amenadiel!”

Uriel shook his head and sighed, “Poor Eve is just another moth to Lucifer’s flame! Blinded by the light! Poor, unfortunate creature!”

Their eyes fairly gleamed with desire and unabashed delight when they spoke of the punishment they thought Lucifer deserved. “Nothing could be too awful or too great, or more than he deserves!”

It occurred to Amenadiel then that Lucifer, despite his newfound carnal knowledge, was still the most innocent of all God’s angels. He hadn’t changed because of his experience. The change was in how others now regarded him, and how that would in turn make the sensitive and high-strung Angel of Light feel about himself, therein lay the greatest danger. Their siblings might lack the power to cast Lucifer out of Heaven, but they could make him an outcast, to feel unwelcome and unwanted in the only home he had ever known.

When they spoke of death by Obliteration, or banishment, with eyes gouged out, wings, tongue, and genitals severed, damned to wander evermore in the hottest desert wasteland the Earth could provide, Amenadiel felled them both with a single punch. His fist collided with Uriel’s face, splintering his nose and teeth, and the back of his skull split Gabriel’s lips open and shattered his nose and gloating smile. Concealed cards, coins, and dice had flown from Gabriel’s wings as they crashed down onto the marble floor; moaning and wallowing miserably in their own spilt blood and broken teeth.

As he towered above them, Amenadiel sighed and shook his head sadly. “There is a clear and certain distinction in Lucifer’s mind between how mortals and angels express love and affection, and he would be both _horrified_ and _heartbroken_ to hear you, his own brothers, say such things, or to know you even thought them. And if you _dare_ speak of, or even insinuate, such things to him, even by the vaguest hint…I will show neither patience nor kindness when I deal with you. The blow I have just rendered will seem like the greatest act of mercy compared to what I will do. And I assure you, it would be folly to dismiss these words as merely the voice of anger or idle threats, for I mean every one of them. Now get out!”

After they crawled and lurched their way to the front door, Gabriel rounded on Amenadiel, spitting blood and contempt like a cobra’s venom. “You treat Lucifer like a treasure even though he is now tarnished by sin! Even though he is fallen into disgrace, and despised by everyone, you still bear him up! And yet you say you are not blinded by his light! Well what would you call that if not blindness, Brother?”

“I would call it love, Gabriel. Something it grieves me to say you know nothing about.” And then he shut the door in their faces.

Undaunted, Gabriel flung himself upon the door, hammering on the silvered wood, pausing only to push Uriel down the steps when, urging his brother to remember his pride, he tried to pull him away.

“Need I remind you, Amenadiel, that _I_ am the Angel of Annunciations, and every time you speak as the Voice and Presence of God, I blow my trumpet! I blow my trumpet for you, Amenadiel! For you!” Gabriel bellowed. “We should have been _vasiminip-pala_ and you know it! We make more sense than you and that glorified torch Lucifer ever have or ever will! Think of the picture of might and power we would present united! Swallow your pride, Brother, admit your mistake in choosing Lucifer, and ask Father for a dissolution! And then you and I shall have the sugared almonds—red and gold to symbolize our glorious splendor!—and the Hall of Rejoicing shall ring with applause for us!”

Amenadiel didn’t even bother to answer; he was already on his way back upstairs. Words, breath, and time all would be wasted if he were to remind Gabriel that there is so much more to being _vasiminip-pala_ than the celebratory almonds. Preening pairs are love everlasting, they are never spontaneous, casual, fleeting unions, nor are they made for convenience, status, or to project a certain image. The almonds always come last, as a sweet announcement of a sacred covenant already long consecrated. For the bitter and the sweet, they are symbolic of a steadfast devotion and desire already well-seasoned by so many countless centuries before _nanilil-nanim_ (almond time) comes at last. And the color of the sugar that covers the almonds is a choice they make together, for private and special reasons never shared with anyone else, it is _janesil-jamesid_ (a sacred secret), even if it is something silly or slight that they always laugh about.

So now he sits, watching over Lucifer’s slumber, while pondering the hardness of their siblings’ hearts. Perhaps this is the saddest thing of all. As angels they should be able to understand…and forgive. They should be above jealousy and spite. Hate should be a stranger to them, not kindness, mercy, and, most of all, love.

Spread out across the vast width of the bed, Lucifer’s wings twitch. He murmurs something, his voice soft and slurry with sleep. His hand wanders across the empty mattress, seeking his brother’s warmth. Not finding it, he rolls fitfully onto his back again; wingtips and restless feet sending quilt and sheet sliding in a silken whisper onto the floor. Now fully exposed, the organ about which their siblings have had so much to say rests placidly in a nest of short black curls, innocently unaware that it is the cause of so much curiosity and concern.

“ _Nelal_ (cold),” Lucifer whimpers, hands searching for the missing covers.

Amenadiel quickly retrieves the covers from the floor. He shakes them out and carefully replaces them. Mornings in the Silver City are always chilly.

Lucifer opens his eyes and smiles up at him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Luci.”

“The empty bed woke me,” Lucifer yawns and stretches languorously against the morning chilled silk. “Come,” he holds out his arms, “warm me with your skin and your love, Brother.”

Amenadiel slips beneath the covers.

“ _Nanisi-namadima_ (flesh and feathers),” Lucifer sighs contentedly, burrowing happily into his brother’s warmth. 

_“Nanisi-namadima,”_ Amenadiel repeats, arms and wings hugging Lucifer close.

“I hate it when you have to rise so early,” Lucifer pouts.

“I know,” Amenadiel smiles, “you would have me be a slugabed like you.”

“No,” Lucifer shakes his head, bed-rumpled curls bouncing, “not _like_ me— _with_ me,” he grins mischievously. “Tell me, Brother, what was so urgent that you had to rise before dawn?”

“Oh…uh…it was nothing, Luci, just…” He doesn’t want to lie, but he can’t bear to tell the truth, to let such ugly words pass over his lips, to watch Lucifer’s heart break.

“Don’t,” Lucifer lays his fingers lightly over Amenadiel’s lips. “Don’t waste time looking for a comforting lie to tell me, Brother. I know it was about me…about what I did.”

“Gabriel and Uriel just came to…express their concerns.”

“Their concerns,” Lucifer nods and frowns, “yes, of course, they would do that. I’m surprised Remiel wasn’t with them.”

“She’s out hunting; doubtlessly she’ll seek me out when she returns.”

Amenadiel gently takes Lucifer’s hand and presses the palm flat against his heart, _nimasa-nasasi_ , a loving gesture intended to calm him with his grace.

“Luci, you know how Gabriel and Uriel are…Remiel too.”

But Lucifer isn’t listening; he’s staring at Amenadiel’s knuckles.

“You fought!” He jerks away and sits up, biting his lower lip to try to still its trembling.

“Just one blow, well-aimed and well-deserved! It’s nothing, Luci, truly! It will soon heal…”

Lucifer plucks one of his feathers. “One minute is too long for you to hurt, Brother.”

In a burst of golden light the feather soaks into Amenadiel’s skin, healing it in a divine instant.

“Better now?”

“Better now,” Amenadiel nods.

Lucifer leans over and kisses his brother.

_“Vazalos_ (Thank you),” he whispers, his voice soft and trembling.

“For what?” Amenadiel asks.

“For not forsaking me.”

“You are the light of my world,” Amenadiel smiles, cupping Lucifer’s face between his hands. “If only they could see you as I do!” He shakes his head and sighs. “And they think me blinded by your light!”

“And which would you prefer,” Lucifer asks gently, “if you had to choose? If someone must be doomed to blindness and unable to see me as I truly am—would you rather it be you or them?”

Amenadiel smiles and rests his brow against his brother’s. “You know.”

“Yes, I do.” Lucifer smiles back at him, “and the joy that gives me is beyond measure.”

***

Sun shining through the open balcony doors, dazzling the gilt embroidered quilt and silver trays covering their laps, they sit with piles of plump pillows supporting their backs and wings, enjoying their breakfast of sweet berries swirled in rich cream and stacks of delicious golden honey cakes.

“Yes, Luci,” Amenadiel nods thoughtfully, “you make several good, and valid, points. I can see how calling what the humans do ‘the act of love’ could be subject to misunderstanding. Deception and cruelty too, if the humans do not treat kindly and honestly with one another…”

“And sadness,” Lucifer adds. “To call it ‘the act of love’ and yet to discover that it can be accomplished without love strikes me as very sad! Actually, I find the whole thing sad, Brother!”

“What else troubles you, _lucifitas_ (bright one)?” Amenadiel asks gently. “Tell me and be free of it.”

“Well…” Lucifer begins, “on Earth animals freely choose their consorts, and here in Heaven angels choose, to become _vasiminip-pala_ or not…yet the humans were given no choice at all. Father fashioned Eve to be Adam’s wife, and since he is the only man, she must take him to husband, because they were made to breed, to populate Earth, so they cannot choose to remain chaste and solitary or not to spawn. And will that not take a long time, Brother?” Lucifer frowns. “There being just the two of them, I mean, until their offspring reach breedable age, of course. And how large will Eve’s litters be, and how many weeks must she carry them before hatch—I mean birthing?”

“Father has decreed that gestation shall be nine months, and she will likely bear only one child at a time,” Amenadiel explains, drizzling more honey onto his stack of cakes.

“Oh! That _is_ going to take a _long_ time! Will her weak mortal body be able to withstand yearly breedings of such prolonged duration?” Lucifer asks worriedly. “Nine months—that is the better part of a year, Brother! And what if her offspring are all male? I suppose they can find ways to love one another even without wings,” he says doubtfully, “but…they will not be able to breed—with each other—will they?”

“No, Luci, only male and female united may breed, and yes, if Eve bears only boys that could be problematic. But, worry not, I’m sure Father has—or will—take all this into consideration if he has not already…”

“Well I still feel sad for them…for Eve…and Adam too! I do not think they will be very happy, Brother, I do not think so at all!”  
  


“And why is that, Luci?” Amenadiel asks curiously.

“She finds neither his person nor his conversation convivial, Brother! Though I am an angel, and any creature may safely trust me, I was a stranger to Eve, yet she brazenly confided all that to me. And within moments of making my acquaintance! She actually used the phrase ‘dull as mud’ when describing him, and she likened him to both a man-sized sloth and a gigantic slug. And I know I should not like to do what she did with me, this falsely named ‘act of love,’ with either of those creatures,” Lucifer shudders, repulsed at the very thought, “so I think their conjugal couplings cannot be very agreeable. But I do have to wonder…” he furrows his brow, “is Eve’s sight afflicted, Brother? Do the humans not see as well as we do? I have seen Adam from a distance several times, once even near enough for him to see and nod most respectfully to me, and I did not think him sloth- or slug- like in the least. He was not abnormally furry or at all slimy, and he walked fully upright with no apparent difficulty.”

Amenadiel manages to suppress his laughter. “I think Eve was referring to his personality and not his appearance, Luci. Adam is…Adam is not vivacious. He is a plainspoken and practical man who strives to do always the best he can, but he does not…sparkle.”

“So he is like you then?” Lucifer pops another berry into his mouth.

“Hmmm…” Amenadiel ponders, “well…I suppose…in some ways.…one might make a _slight_ comparison…”

“Don’t look sad!” Lucifer exclaims. “I didn’t say it to make you sad! And you don’t need to sparkle, you have me for that! And we all know sparkle is what I do best!”

“Do not make the mistake of believing that is all you are, Luci…”

At that moment a raging Remiel bursts in through the open balcony doors, her face bathed in furious tears. In her arms a large white swan writhes and hisses.

“This is for you!” she announces right before she wrings its neck and tosses the swan's lifeless body onto the bed. Then she spreads her tawny speckled wings and takes flight.

Amenadiel lunges after her, but Lucifer’s anguished cry banishes all thought of pursuit.

_“No!_ _Oh! No!_ _No!_ It is the king swan from Eden, Brother!” An altercation with a baby crocodile had left a raggedly scarred crescent-shaped void on the swan’s left foot, depriving him of two webbed toes and rendering him easily recognizable.

“How could she? How could Remiel do this?” Lucifer sobs, cradling the broken bird against his breast, frantically feeling for any sign of lingering life, even the tiniest flicker.

_Naral_ (swans) are the sacred symbol of preening pairs. God created these serene, majestic birds that mate for life as a loving tribute to His children who chose to consecrate their love and devotion to one another by becoming _vasiminip-pala._

_“Please, Father!”_ Tears pouring from his dark eyes, Lucifer lifts his face skyward. “Don’t let this innocent creature be punished because of me, because of what I did! His mate will be alone and heartbroken! _Please,_ Father, don’t let the pair be broken! _Please!”_ He hugs the sad, droop-necked bird against his heart and wraps his wings as tight as he can around himself, like a shawl, every feather glowing and quaking, tears raining down to soak both his own white feathers and the swan’s.

A few moments later, in a flash of blinding light, Lucifer gasps and falls limply back onto the bed.

The swan hops down, waddles across the floor to the low table by the fire, noses the lid off a silver dish with his beak, and begins nonchalantly gobbling olives.

“Luci!” Amenadiel rushes to his brother’s side.

“The swan! Is he all right?” Lucifer gasps.

“He’s fine,” Amenadiel winces as crystal shatters against marble. The feathered king has imperiously dashed the lid off a crystal dish to get at the candied figs and honeyed dates inside.

Amenadiel helps Lucifer to sit up and he leans back gratefully against his brother’s chest.

“Remiel will pay for this,” Amenadiel promises. “She had no right…”

“They want you to petition Father for _vonelasil_ (dissolution)!” Lucifer cries wretchedly. “I know they do! That’s why Remiel did this terrible thing! She killed a swan, Brother— _a swan!_ —to tell me that they want me gone, out of the way, dead even, so you can be free to choose…”

The fact that the king swan’s mate is a serene black-plumed female known for the calming influence she has upon her mate makes Remiel’s message even more blatant. She could have killed either of them, but she chose the white-feathered one.

“They cannot, and will not, harm you, Luci, and they have no say in the matter,” Amenadiel gently but firmly reminds him. “And I say: If I were free to choose again, I would choose you again, Luci. Always, every time, I would ask you what color almonds you would have.”

Lucifer smiles through his tears. “And I would say purple, for the field of lavender we lay in the night you first asked me that question, and for the color the thunder lizards should have been.”

“And I would say silver, for the moon that shone down upon us that night,” Amenadiel takes a napkin from his abandoned breakfast tray and uses it to dry Lucifer’s tears, “and for the more dignified gray Father chose for the brontosaurus,”

“I still think they should have been purple,” Lucifer chuckles.

“There were moments when they almost seemed so. Do you remember how when they bathed the sun would shine down upon the water still pooled on their hides and make rainbows of pink, purple, blue, and gold? It was truly a magnificent sight!” Amenadiel sighs wistfully.

Lucifer nods. “I still miss them.”

“I know, I do too. But not as much as I would miss you.”

“And I you, Brother.”

More crystal shatters as His Feathered Majesty disdains a dish of fruit confits.

Amenadiel frowns and rises to inspect the damage.

Lucifer follows.

The swan spits out a mashed and mangled cube of rose-pink jelly and flaps his wings to express his displeasure.

“Apparently _dazi adohi naral_ (the king swan) agrees with me that your cook has rather a heavy hand with the rosewater, Brother,” Lucifer observes.

“You only say that because your cook has too light a touch, Luci,” Amenadiel counters, “so properly made confits always taste strange to you. But my cook always adds _exactly_ the right amount of rosewater, and not a drop less or more.”

“Oh no,” Lucifer adamantly shakes his head, “she should have been a perfumer instead of a cook, she always adds too much rosewater, lavender too. The confits she makes always taste like little bars of jellied soap. She’s far too heavy-handed with such delicate ingredients, Brother, we should always have my cook make the confits, or order them from the _Narimanoma_ (Confectioner) instead.”

Amenadiel folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head. “Now why should we do that when we both know my cook prepares them perfectly every time?”

“Ha!” Lucifer exclaims. “You’re mistaken, Brother! Even the swan won’t eat them! They’re nothing but congealed perfume dusted with powdered sugar, they merely masquerade as candy! That _noco_ wench’s hand is far too heavy, and you know it’s true, and the swan does too!”

Amenadiel snorts in disbelief. “The swan is unaccustomed to eating confections and therefore cannot be considered an apt judge of them. This is probably the first time he’s ever tasted rosewater.”

Lucifer shrugs. “Well he’s entitled to his opinion, and he shares mine, so two against one. Therefore, I win!”

“Oh no, no…”

And soon Lucifer and Amenadiel are shouting passionately at each other— _“ralo_ _jimalo!_ (too heavy!)” and _“ralo janaza!_ (too light!)” Back and forth, back and forth, while the swan looks on.

Lucifer deftly utilizes a wingtip to trip Amenadiel, but he doesn’t go down without a fight, he grabs Lucifer, pulls him down with him, and then they’re rolling and wrestling across the floor, screaming “ _ralo_ _jimalo!”_ and _“ralo janaza!”_ the whole time.

“Too heavy!” Lucifer pins Amenadiel down.

“Too light!” Amenadiel flips Lucifer over onto his back. “Give up, little brother, you know I’m right!”

“You are not! I still say your cook is too li—I mean heavy-handed with the rosewater!” But the correction comes too late; they’re both smiling over this slip of the tongue.

Amenadiel pins Lucifer’s wrists above his head. “Admit the amount of rosewater in the confits is _exactly_ right.”

Before Lucifer can answer, there’s a loud splash.

“Brother, let me up, the swan is in the bathtub!”

Amenadiel shrugs and shifts his position, but he doesn’t let go of Lucifer’s wrists. “Let him wet his feathers while we tangle ours.”

“Well…if it will take your mind off those rosewater deluged confits…” Lucifer grins and invitingly fluffs his feathers.

***

Lucifer kneels by the water’s edge and gently releases the swan. The feathered king’s frantic mate comes swiftly gliding to welcome him back. They come together, brow to brow, breast to breast, the open space between them forming a heart.

The brothers stand on the river bank watching, smiling, as the swans glide away together, to love and preen hidden amidst the cattails and reeds.

Suddenly the tears begin to fall anew. The enormity of everything that has happened hits Lucifer hard. He turns swiftly and throws his arms around Amenadiel’s neck, burrowing close for comfort.

Amenadiel cradles him while he cries, patiently waiting for sorrow’s rain to stop, then he takes Lucifer’s face between his hands and looks deep into his eyes.

“You are still the brightest and most innocent of angels, no one can take that from you unless you let them, Brother. What you did with your body hasn’t changed your soul, or who or what you are; don’t let anyone make you think that it has.” He kisses Lucifer’s brow, and then his lips, like a whisper and a prayer, and pulls him back into his arms.

They stand together, embracing, for so long time seems to have stopped. The sun shines down on them like a blessing and a gentle breeze stirs feathers dark and white. Viewed from the side, their wings almost form the shape of a heart as the tips meet and the feathers mingle.

They’re unaware that someone is watching them.

Waist-deep in the river, veiled by reeds, Eve stands. She begins to shiver. It’s strange how the sun-dappled water that seemed so lovely and pleasant only moments ago has suddenly grown so cold. Her lips tremble and she tastes the salt of tears upon them.

Lucifer steps back. He puts his hands on his brother’s shoulders and gently turns him around.

“ _Volina_ (kneel),” he says softly, pressing gently on Amenadiel’s shoulders.

With humility and grace, Lucifer kneels down behind his brother and with exquisite tenderness and care begins to groom his wings.

Amenadiel shuts his eyes and blissfully leans back his head, surrendering to the sure and loving touch.

_***_

Eve’s lips feel like they’re drowning in salt. There’s a lump in her throat she can’t swallow down and a tight pain in her chest like a strong, mighty fist has hold of her heart, squeezing it like a juicy fruit, determined to wring every last drop out.

Yesterday, near sunset time, when Adam returned from fishing and sat down by the fire to warm his hands, he casually mentioned that he’d seen angels bathing in the waterfall—the shiny-domed dark-skinned one, God’s Emissary, who had previously visited them, and his beloved, the curly-haired angel with sun-bronzed skin and wings of purest white.

“He’s not his beloved, he’s his brother!” Eve had shouted, surprising both Adam and herself with her anger and vehemence. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d snatched up a fish and slapped Adam hard across the face with it. She knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her with his words, they were spoken in innocence, but somehow that made it even worse.

Blinded by tears, she leapt up and ran as fast as she could, crashing through the olive grove, racing towards the waterfall, ignoring Adam’s concerned cries that it would be dark soon and warnings about wild animals. Branches scratched and slapped her face and tore at her hair, but Eve didn’t care. On and on she ran. She kept thinking about how she would tell Lucifer what Adam had said. Oh how he would laugh! He would find it so funny to be mistaken for his brother’s beloved! And Eve would laugh with him. _They_ would laugh _together,_ and then she would put her arms around him and pull him down onto the ground and straddle him, cover him with kisses and take him within the hot sheath of her womanhood. She would make him buck and writhe and cry out in pleasure. Over and over again she kept replaying the scene in her mind, laughing and smiling through her tears, feeling her nipples harden and her thighs grow slick with the juices of desire until she thought she must stop and touch herself or else go mad. But no, she smiled and ran on, she would grab Lucifer’s hand as soon as she saw him and thrust it between her legs, she would guide his fingers and teach him how best to please her. She would continue his education and teach him all about the secret, hidden little bud that bloomed with love. And perhaps, this time, Lucifer would not hasten away like a wild, frightened creature, but linger and let her caress his wings when ecstasy caused them to explode from his back. This time he would not cry out “ _No! My wings are not for you!”_ and fly away!

By the time she reached the waterfall the moon’s silvery light revealed that the angels had already gone. It was then that the truth slapped her harder than any branch across her face—Lucifer had come to Eden, but not to see her. He had not sought her out at all! If he had, he would have found her, hoping and waiting, and oh so eager. She fell down then in the long, evening cooled grass and wept until Adam came creeping clumsily through the olive trees to gather her up in his arms and carry her back to the safety of their crude little hut where he tried to soothe and kiss her tears away, tears he could not understand—poor, stupid, mud-dull thing!

She’d cried until she was sick, shuddering and heaving all through the long, sleepless night, swollen eyes greeting the dawn gritty and red. She was exhausted from trying to fight that niggling little voice speaking out from the depths of her mind, reminding her that the first time she’d seen Lucifer she’d made the same assumption as Adam.

It had been during a storm of sudden, heavy rain. She’d seen the angels sheltering beneath The Tree—The Forbidden Tree—The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil that God the Father said they must never eat from. But the two angels ate from it freely and played with the serpent that guarded it as though it were a harmless pet. The dark one plucked a green apple and his curly-haired companion selected a deep red fruit. The serpent slithered down from the branches and coiled around their bodies, embracing them as they embraced each other. They spoke softly, laughed much, and shared their apples, each tasting of the red and green fruit. Then they began to argue. She did not know the Tongue of Angels and couldn’t understand what they said, but she guessed by their gestures that the quarrel concerned red and green apples, presumably which tasted better. But a little voice inside Eve’s head uncoiled like a snake and hissed that this was not truly anger but passion-play. The way they held their wings, rustling and shaking their feathers, and circling one another, made her think of the peacock’s flaunting display. The whole thing was more like a dance of love than a brawl, even when they struck each other and rolled on the ground, grappling for supremacy. Then they were gone in a whirlwind of tangled feathers, vanishing in the downpour, leaving two mostly-eaten apples lying on the wet grass, and she never knew how it all ended and which color apple was deemed superior. She only knew that she wanted Lucifer. Never had she seen a being so beautiful!

She’d risen from her rush-woven sleeping mat feeling wretched, and decided to go to the river and bathe. She was starting to feel a little better when she heard the swans calling to one another. She saw Lucifer kneel at the riverside with the king swan in his arms. She was so happy, she started to swim to him, ready to forgive everything, and take him into her arms and body, but then she saw that he wasn’t alone. He stood there, at his brother’s side, the two of them gazing across the river, at the swans happily preening in the reeds. Suddenly Lucifer turned away. He was in his brother’s arms, his head was on his shoulder, and dark fingers were combing comfortingly through those beautiful, pure white feathers Eve longed to touch so.

A part of her hated Amenadiel, even though she knew he had only been acting on orders, speaking for God, his father, the Father of All Creation, not for himself, when he told her and Adam what to do—to be fruitful and multiply. He hadn’t asked her if this was what she wanted or how she felt about it, he expected her to be meek and obey, as docilely as Adam. And when she saw Amenadiel kiss Lucifer’s lips she hated him even more, even though her inner voice laughed scornfully and said “That isn’t a _real_ kiss!”

***

Lucifer continues to groom his brother’s wings, knowing exactly when to pause and trail his fingers through the dark feathers, grazing the skin beneath lightly with his nails, or to lean in close and blow gently, teasingly on the feathers crowning Amenadiel’s shoulders. _“Ni vimadila!_ (I am melting!)” Amenadiel sighs. There are more shivers and sighs, and then a moment comes when Amenadiel cries out _“Ni dobix, vemasi pim!_ (I am falling, catch me!)” Lucifer reaches around, placing one hand firm and flat over his brother’s heart and the other above his navel. Amenadiel’s hands cover his, golden tan and rich brown fingers weaving together, holding tight. Both spread their wings, every feather taut and trembling, and bring them together, Lucifer laying his wings over his brother’s. The longest, largest feathers at the tips and edges mesh together, light penetrating dark, for a long, shuddering moment, and then Amenadiel is embraced by two sets of wings—his own and Lucifer’s.

Lucifer’s wings glow so bright Eve can hardly bear to look at them. There’s a throbbing pain, and dazzling blotches and dark blobs appear floating before her eyes as though she had gazed directly at the sun.

In that moment they scale passion’s peak and then plummet, but without fear of falling, holding tight to one another, keeping each other warm and safe, wrapped in the wings that are love. And then it’s over, they slump onto the grass, resting together like the two wooden spoons Adam carved. And Eve has at last the answer to her unasked question, now she knows who Lucifer’s wings are for. He was telling her the truth when he said “No! My Wings are not for you!”

After several minutes, Lucifer rises, laughing, giddy and unsteady. He staggers to a nearby tree and plucks two large orange globes, each one fully filling his hand.

“Look, Brother—sun fruit!” he smiles.

They sit together and share the juicy, refreshing wedges of fruit and afterwards bathe their hands in the river. And then Lucifer kneels behind Amenadiel again and the preening resumes. It’s uncanny the way his fingers find their place again, the exact feather they last tended before passion overwhelmed.

Thrice more Eve witnesses divine ecstasy, but understands it no better than she did the first time.

How strange it is the way they love! Their masculine organs remain peaceful throughout, ignored as though they don’t even exist. There is no swelling flesh or spurting fluids. They embrace, their bodies touch, but not as humans do. There’s none of the grunting, writhing, thrusting, grinding, sweaty, primitive frenzy of human lovemaking. It’s a more refined ritual. Yet there is ecstasy unmistakable, a love divine and undeniable, a transcendent bliss that has its own unique expression. She can tell they have their own language of love that is as old as the sun and moon. Lucifer brings none of the things she taught him to this encounter; it’s as though he’s forgotten or else discarded them all as meaningless. He even disdains real kisses—the way she taught him to kiss. And yet, when she saw his face over Amenadiel’s shoulder he looked _so_ happy!

They lay together in a blissful swoon, waiting for their quivering feathers to still, and then rise to eat more of the luscious, invigorating orange sun fruits.

Facing each other, they kneel so Lucifer can finish grooming the front of Amenadiel’s wings.

When Lucifer’s fingers leave the last feather, Amenadiel gently takes his wrists and raises them. His hands glide up to caress the fingers that have so lovingly groomed his wings. The backs of his hands brush against Lucifer’s palms, then turn, the nails tickle and graze, and then their fingers embrace.

Watching Lucifer’s face, Eve’s heart feels like it is being bitten by serpent-sharp fangs, but she cannot look away.

Amenadiel presses Lucifer’s right hand over his heart. Lucifer takes Amenadiel’s hand and does the same. Kneeling there, face to face, hands over each other’s hearts, they seem to breathe as one, their hearts find the same rhythm, even their feathers fluff and quiver as one. They cry out, voices united, and fervently embrace, wingtips tangling, and in trembling ecstasy they fall.

Eve’s heart shatters.

Adam didn’t choose her, and Lucifer— _her_ choice!—didn’t choose her either. And no one ever asked her if she wanted to be Adam’s, or anybody’s, wife, or a mother either. Her whole body churns with anger and hurt. Bile rises in her throat and floods her mouth. Every inch of her hurts. Lucifer loves and is loved in a way that she can never understand, surpass, or even equal. Knowing that, that she is not enough, that she is not good enough, is what drives Eve to The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, to ignore the rearing snake, and sink her teeth with savage determination into the forbidden fruit. Maybe it can tell her why and what is lacking in herself.

Posterity would always claim that the Devil made her do it, and in a roundabout way maybe he did, but in reality it was Eve’s own moment of rash rebellion.

***


	3. The First Night in Hell

NOTES: In chapter 18 Lucifer recalls his arrival in Hell, his first sight of himself in Devil form, and his introduction to his demon attendants. This scene describes his first night in Hell.

***

The black satin bed seems vast as the sea, but the canopy of dense black netting that keeps the ashes away blots out all sight of the stars and moon—or would, if they could be seen from Hell. That’s part of the punishment, to deny Lucifer sight of everything he loves. Angels being chaste, sterile creatures, never intended to breed, creating the stars is probably as close as Lucifer will ever come to any semblance of fatherhood. And now he can no longer see his twinkling spawn. He’s fallen so far he can’t even see a miniscule pinprick spark of their glorious light.

But there are worse things—worse punishments, worse pains.

Mirroring the bare limbs restlessly twisting in the black satin sheets, Lucifer’s soul is a maddening tangle of longing, love, and hate, like a complex braid he can’t unravel or fathom where one emotion ends and the next begins. He wants what he shouldn’t want and it’s driving him mad. He knows he has to learn to hate the one he has always loved most, but this, despite the circumstances, is no quick and easy lesson.

He’s lain here for hours; huddled naked under his own wings, watching the ashes fall like grey snow outside the black net bed-curtains, shivering, not from cold, but for want of warm, familiar skin.

With regal pride, Lucifer had retired alone, ordering the demons to stay away, to leave him to sleep in peace. But there is no peace. Lucifer can’t even imagine a time when he’ll ever find peace in this big black bed. A few hours ago, Abraxas, his demon valet, had dared poke his head inside, to offer sex to ease this sleepless night, reminding Lucifer that “His Majesty may avail himself of the favors of any demon he wishes.” Lucifer’s answer was to hurl a heavy Hell steel candlestick, carving a great bloody dent in Abraxas’ forehead, and scream at him to get out and stay out. He wanted to spring up out of bed and rip the demon’s head off and throw it at the wall until it burst like a melon, but he was just too tired, and didn’t care enough, to bother.

Lucifer doesn’t want sex, what—or who—he really wants is his brother. His heart and wings know it’s true, though he keeps telling them it isn’t.

Since the night he was born, Lucifer has slept most nights sheltered, safe and warm, under Amenadiel’s wings. There’s no pillow he prefers more than his brother’s shoulder. He’s accustomed to the comfort of dark feathers and dear, familiar flesh. Angels even have a special name for it— _nanisi-namadima_ , to be flesh and feathers, that glorious warm and peaceful sensation of bodies slowly melting away, blissfully dissolving, as two heartbeats become one, cradled in a nest of tangled feathers. There’s no greater feeling of safety and contentment…or love.

Lucifer’s wings spasm painfully, yearning for those caresses. To feel Amenadiel’s fingers gliding through his feathers!

He twists and turns and finally tries to mold the black satin pillows into the semblance of a shoulder he can lay his head upon. He arranges others alongside his body, in a vertical row, and snuggles close, but the illusion fails miserably. The pillows have no arms to hold him, no wings to enfold him, hands to caress him, lips to kiss him, talk to him, laugh with him, and whisper comforting words, and no heartbeat to soothe him into slumber. He drapes an arm and a leg across them, but the satin shifts and slides; it lacks the warmth and feel of skin, it has no bones or pulse, and his limbs sink into a trench bordered by goose-down.

“It’s bloody useless!” Lucifer sobs, snatching the pillows up and flinging them away in frustration, keeping only one for his head.

He forces himself to picture Amenadiel standing there on the dais in the Hall of Justice, wearing his red robe, presiding as the Voice and Presence of God, condemning him to Hell.

He tries to convince himself that Hell is better than Heaven. After all, it’s been more than a century, closer to two actually, since he felt like the Silver City was truly his home. Since he lost his innocence to Eve, and as Earth's population expanded, Lucifer has spent more time with humans. On Earth he can have fun and feel free. He has sex with them because it’s fun. It’s a meaningless pleasure, but he’s become rather good at it, and they’re always grateful for his skill and attention. And Lucifer is grateful that they don’t belittle and judge, and ostracize him, and treat him like a leper the way his holier-than-thou siblings do, flaunting their precious chastity in his face like a banquet before starving beggars. But he always came “home” to Amenadiel, to fall asleep nestled in dark feathers, listening to his brother’s heartbeat. Though he enjoys the sex, Lucifer has never cared for sleeping or snuggling with humans, it just doesn’t feel right, it’s awkward and unnatural. He prefers to be with his brother, to be loved the way he was meant to be, in a way beside which all human pleasure pales. Amenadiel knows how to rake his fingers through Lucifer’s feathers and reduce him to a mound of quivering jelly. It truly is the most delicious sensation! Nothing carnal can compare!

Sometimes, after returning from an orgy on Earth, long after Amenadiel had retired, Lucifer would sit on the steps in the sunken marble bath, wings folded tight inside his back since he never allowed humans to touch them, and cry quietly while he washed himself. Needing to feel pure and clean again before he unfurled his wings and went to his brother’s bed. But somehow Amenadiel always knew. He would rise naked from his bed, come softly into the bathing chamber, fold away his own wings, and descend into the tub. He would sit behind Lucifer on the steps, gently take the sponge from his hand, and wash Lucifer’s back.

It happened so often it became a ritual.

“Why are you crying, Luci?”

“The humans are as free with their cooking spices as they are with their carnal favors, Brother, sometimes their food makes my eyes water.”

Amenadiel would always grab hold of Lucifer’s wet curls, gently tug his head back, and lean down and kiss him.

“I taste no onion, garlic, or pepper on your lips, Luci, nor anise, tarragon, or cumin. No mustard or saffron either. Or cloves, cinnamon, or ginger.”

“Well, it was hours ago!”

“If the storm rages always outside, then you must find your peace within. I want you to be happy, Luci, to feel peace instead of turmoil inside your soul.”

“I am happy and at peace now, Brother, I’m with you.” Lucifer would always lean his head back, smile up at Amenadiel, and ask, “Kiss me again?”

The request was always gladly granted, full of love and grace.

“It’s late, finish your ablutions and come to bed, my arms feel empty and my shoulder bereft without you to hold.”

Lucifer cannot blame cooking spices for his tears now, nor claim the comfort of a kiss, and the shoulder he longs most for is in another realm where he can never go again.

So many memories and every one a torment!

The phantom tang of lemon teases Lucifer’s nostrils, reminding him of another cherished ritual. So many nights and dreary rainy afternoons, he would stretch out beside the fire. Amenadiel would bring him a hot lemon tonic and rub his shoulders as he drank it. Then they would lie together and Amendiel would rub his stomach the way Lucifer always used to ask him to, claiming he had eaten too much crystal candy, though they both knew it was because he found it so comforting. Humans don’t know how, they never understand that Lucifer wants soothing, not rousing, and even if they did understand, it would never be the same as his brother's comforting touch.

Lucifer tries, but it’s no good, he’s just too tired to rekindle the rage to make that bonfire blaze again. The flame of hate falters, wavers and dims. Every time he conjures up that red robe it just billows and melts away.

“Just this once, just for tonight,” Lucifer tells himself, and gives in to the rush of comforting memories.

Eons of days and nights spent lying together, stomach to stomach, brow to brow, shared laughter, talking of anything and everything, wrestling and playing, feasting on wine and olives. “Luci,” “light of my world,” “ _lucifitas_ (bright one),” the names Amenadiel used to call him echo in his ears. The quarrels that always prefaced passion. All the silly things that were always fun to fight about, like whether red apples tasted better than green, and then the not so slight and silly things that could still be mended by uttering a single loving, peaceful word. The heady thrill and ecstasy of flight and mock battles. Bathing in Eden’s waterfall, and basking in the sun, drying their wings, eating fruit, and tossing grapes to the parrots, laughing and applauding when they caught them in their talons or beaks. And love, always love. Shivering, shuddering, tangled feathers, warm flesh, the feeling of fearlessly falling and being caught and held in strong, safe and loving arms, and blissful, melting swoons, feeling like every bone and limp feather had turned to quivering jelly. The divine, tranquil blessing of angel kisses. The tingling, delicious warmth of preening oil, like cinnamon on the tongue, spreading through his wings and being massaged into his back and chest, and the fire-heated preening stone that helped stimulate the oil. Of feeling lost in the moment, so happily and fearlessly lost in a love he thought could never die—the eternal, unbreakable bond between brothers, of being _vasiminip-pala,_ a preening pair.

The memory of betrayal comes again like a whip-sharp slashing slap, reminding him that all that is over and he should not miss it at all, he should feel only anger and hate for Amenadiel now. Amenadiel in his red robe, speaking for their father, sending him to Hell. But Lucifer is so tired, so lost and lonely…and his wings don’t want to face this new truth. The red robe slips away again…the way it used to slip from Amenadiel’s shoulders after he left the Hall of Justice. How many times had Lucifer helped him both to don and doff that same ceremonial robe? He clearly recalls his fingers fiddling and fussing with the golden tassels or else impatiently untying them. Far easier to count the times he had not—once, only once, when Lucifer himself stood below the regal dais, a penitent in chains, awaiting punishment.

He dozes off, but wakes almost instantly feeling so certain that he’d just heard his brother say his name—“Luci!” The feeling is so real, so strong, the spoken endearment seems to hover still upon the air, whisper-tingling close against his ear, making Lucifer gasp and shiver and weep for want of his brother’s wings and skin.

“I want to tangle my feathers with yours,” he can imagine each of them saying as they said so many countless times before.

He can see, feel, hear himself wrapping his wings around Amenadiel, snuggling close, sated by the divine Act of Love, purring and whispering “Brother, you make my heart melt—like the sugar shell upon an almond in my mouth.”

He can still taste the celebratory almonds of purple and silver they shared when they announced in the Hall of Rejoicing that they had become _vasiminip-pala_ (a preening pair), that divine and sacred union between siblings who would have no other to groom their wings.

And that last night together, before the Rebellion, when Amenadiel came to him…

“I am divine! _We_ are divine!” Lucifer had exclaimed in an ecstatic rush, spreading his just preened wings and throwing his head back so far he almost fell off the bed.

Amenadiel had caught him and pulled him back into the safety of his arms.

“Yes, we are,” he agreed.

When he finally drifts off to sleep, Lucifer dreams of his Fall, but this time it’s different. Amenadiel is there to tenderly lift him out of the burning ashes, to douse the fire, and cradle him in his arms, and wrap him in his wings. To soothe and comfort him as they wait for the burned flesh to heal, and for dark springy spirals of curls to sprout from the ravaged red scalp, and for fresh feathers to grow and restore his clipped wings to their former glory. To keep the demons at bay and take him to his chamber, to bathe his weak, battered, weary body, and comb every hateful, itchy little ash from his feathers, and make Lucifer feel loved, cherished, restored, and new.

Lucifer wakes hugging his tear-soaked pillow. He imagines he hears Amenadiel’s voice inside his head saying, “You know I would be with you now if I could be.”

_“Esiach tablior!_ (my brother who always comforts me)," heartbroken and miserable, Lucifer weeps into his pillow, pounding it with his fist, the words full of bitterness and longing.

***


End file.
